Invisible To the Touch
by undertheaegisof
Summary: Katniss moves to an abandoned Victor's Village. The rebellion happened years ago. She finds out that she is not alone. The spirit of the last victor of the Hunger Games still haunts his home. What is this mysterious connection she feels to this boy's spirit? Is it possible to love a ghost? The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins, not me.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! This is a preview for a story that will be possibly be published in a few months. I would love feedback to see what the response to this story would be. So let me know if you are interested in this story. **

Chapter I

They call it the Victor's Village. It's this small deserted little neighborhood about thirty minutes from town. Thirty minutes if you are driving in one of those rickety old cars we have here in District Twelve. I don't trust them and for good reason too. I've seen a few to many of them crash. However I don't really have a choice. If I am going to move my belongings over here then I'll have to use one of those sputtering death traps. I didn't tell anyone I was moving here. Gale would try to convince me to stay where I was. I can't do that though.

Two months ago my family was killed. Murdered. They were walking home one night, Mom, Dad and Prim; some drug-addicted kid with a gun stopped them. Demanding their money. My Dad, being the great man he was, tried to reason with the boy. It was no use. He shot them all. He took them away from me in one single night.

I was left with everything, all the money, the house, and the car. We didn't have a lot of money. We were middle class citizens. My Dad didn't make a lot of money but he did a decent job with saving. I inherited it all when he passed. I couldn't bear to live in that house any longer though. There were to many painful memories and to many reminders of all that I had lost. So I sold it. I a decent price for it too. I told my friends I was buying an apartment. I knew they'd try to stop me if they knew what I was doing. I bought one of the abandoned houses in the Victor's Village. They were nice, definitely needed a fair bit of fixing but I figured that it will be a nice project to keep me busy.

Nobody lives here. No one has for a long time. No one even dares to come out here. I think that's why I picked it. I just want to get away, to be free from the pain associated with my memories. Of course the man down at town hall openly told me I was crazy for buying in the Victor's Village.

Legend has it that the houses are haunted. It stems from the rebellion that took place one hundred years ago. Those brave enough to trek out here claim it is haunted. Ghost stories run amuck, told at campfires everywhere. It's all a bunch of bullshit if you ask me. I don't believe it for one moment. Before the rebellion, when the government held an event known as the Hunger Games. Kids were sent to fight to the death. They said it was a reminder of why the people shouldn't rebel again. It was to show their power. It only pushed the people further. The second rebellion was successful. Anyone who was unlucky enough to emerge as the winner of the Hunger Games was known as a victor. As a sign of the goodness of the government they were allowed to live in the Victor's Village and they received a hefty sum of money. Some life.

History says the last victor Peeta Mellark was from District Twelve. Legend has it that his ghost still haunts these houses.

It's sad really. People will do anything to scare each other, including smudging the name of a beloved historical hero. Peeta Mellark started a revolution when he won without killing a single soul. With his silver tongue he gave hope to a suffering nation. He was the symbol of the revolution. In the end however he was broken. The government captured him and they tortured him. Oddly enough there is no record of his death. His suffering only pushed the people further; it was the last push they needed to win. Now, thanks to him, the world is a happy place….at least for most people.

The world has thrived. Travel between districts became available to all. Technology that was once only available to the elitist of the elite has now trickled down into the masses. Of course some districts are still poorer than others and have less of the high-tech gadgets. But still the world has come a long way. Everyone is generally happy. I used to be happy. I had my mom, my dad and Prim. We lived a comfortable life. My dad made sure we never had to struggle to get by. We were a family. Then it all changed. The last time I was happy was the day they died. I haven't smiled since then.

Now everyone just stares at me with looks of pity that make me sick. They tell me that it is all going to be okay. They tell me that the grief will pass, or that I just need to move on with my life. They tell me that my family wouldn't want me to be like this, that I should try…for them. How can they say that? How would they know what my family would want? They were my family and not theirs! They have no right! Why should I even bother? They're dead! My whole family is dead!

Tears stream unabashedly down my cheeks.

I'll never see them again. I'll never again have the chance to hold them. To tell them I love them. My father will never grow old and retire. He will never have the chance to just relax and enjoy his life. We'll never go hunting again. I'll never hear him sing. My mother will never have the chance to dote over Prim on her wedding day. She'll never get to obsess over her grandchildren. She'll never have the chance to nag me to get married despite the fact she knows I just don't want that. And Prim…my little duck, my sweet little sister. She'll never get to graduate. She'll never marry Rory Hawthorne like everyone thought she would. She'll never have those children she's always wanted too. She'll never get to go to school and become a doctor. She'll never have the chance to really live. No…one night ripped that all away from them.

Why not me? Why am I forced to suffer in the land of the living? Why do I have to endure the painful life without them? If only I hadn't forgotten jacket at work. I would have been there with them. I could have died with them. Instead I am forced to suffer alone.

I wipe my eyes and return to shoving boxes in the car until there are no more boxes and no more space. The drive out to the Victor's Village seems shorter than usual, maybe I was driving too fast. The entire neighborhood, a dozen houses or so, is grown over. The hedges and grasses are unruly. The paint is chipping on every house. A few windows are smashed and there are a few boards loose. But that's ok, it will be the perfect distraction.

I unload the contents of the car into the living room. Despite the amount of time this place has been deserted the inside is in excellent condition. A thick layer of dust covers absolutely everything but otherwise most of the furniture is in great condition. Once all of my things are unloaded I begin to clear the cobwebs and the dust.

I replace the burnt out or broken lights and wipe everything clean. By nightfall the inside is looking like a completely different place. With all the dirt and grime gone the former beauty of the house is restored. The furniture looks brand new and there are dozens of beautiful paintings on the walls. Sunsets and scenery painted so realistically I almost feel like I'm wandering in the meadow or that I can feel the chill of the night air set in as the sun disappears past the horizon. It's eerie.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" A voice sounds from behind me.

Terror courses through me and I spin in circles looking for the voice. My heart beats erratically and my palms begin to sweat. The room is completely empty. I am all alone. But I know I heard a voice. I'm not going crazy.

I'm starting to think this might have been a bad idea after all.

**So that is the first chapter. Let me know what you think so far.**


	2. Chapter 2

******A/N:**

******Here it is! Once again I am blown away by the excitement for this story. Really you guys made me so happy. I can't promise regular updates yet because my summer is pretty crazy. But I will update whenever possible.**

******And finally, I'm considering a beta for this story. It has gotten such a wild response that I feel the need for some help. I'm not really sure how to go about getting a beta...but I guess if you are interested review or PM.**

******So here it is! Please let me know what you think!**

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Chapter II

It's been a week since I heard that voice…or thought I heard that voice. I was so sure I heard it! Yet as more time passes I'm starting to think it was just a figment of my imagination. But it had seemed so real…

I shake my head free of those thoughts and turn back to the task at hand. Over the past week I had unloaded and unpacked all of my belongings. It took a few days to get everything into their proper place. The kitchen was organized, everything in it's proper drawer, and every dish in its proper cupboard. I had to fix the hinges on many of the cupboard doors and they will need a new coat of varnish. The drawers will need varnish as well; thankfully all the drawer handles are in place and in good condition. A quick polishing and they will be good as new.

After the kitchen I had moved onto the bedroom. I made and remade my bed, numerous times. Every time I was convinced that the comforter wasn't exactly even on every side. I organized my underwear drawer…I even folded my numerous pairs of underwear. And as ridiculous as it sounds I took the time to pair all of my socks and to roll them into manageable balls in my drawer. Of course I threw out all the odd pairs with no match. I folded all of my pants, shorts, and capris…then sorted them into separate drawers. If that wasn't ridiculous enough I even organized my closet. First I sorted everything into shirt type—long sleeve, t-shirt, tanks, button up, you name it. Then by color. Finally I sorted it all alphabetically. You might say it was crazy and obsessive but right now I'd do anything to keep my mind from wandering to more dangerous places…

I made up the guest room...not that I plan on having any. And with my toiletries set up in the bathroom and all my office supplies put away in the appropriate room. I've done everything possible to avoid the one room I haven't unpacked.

The living room. All the furniture had been properly arranged. Of course by 'properly arranged' I mean that I had rearranged the furniture at least a dozen times. I think I'm starting to develop a disorder…I might need to get that checked. But really all I was doing was avoiding the last box still sitting in my new living room.

I know it is still sitting right in front of the fireplace. It hasn't moved since I first set it there. I haven't touched it. But it haunts me. It looms over my head like an impending dentist appointment…only a thousand times worse. Painful like getting a cavity fixed without the freezing.

Ugh…now all I can think of is that damn box and my obvious hatred for visiting the dentist.

That box can sit there for a while longer. I have no problem delaying the pain it brings. Beside I have more pressing matters…groceries.

I brought every bit of food from my old place but one can only live so long on canned soup and grilled cheese. I need to acquire some real forms of sustenance. And soon…I think I'm closing in on borderline malnourished.

I cringe at the site of the rusted junker of a car in my overgrown driveway. I hate how unsafe these things are. I know there are much safer cars but the cost is outrageous. I don't plan on using this thing unless I have to.

A quick trip to the grocery store is enough for today. I make sure to visit the opposite side of the city from where I used to live. No one will recognize me here. I won't risk running into a friend or acquaintance that will try to convince me to move back or to go to a counselor to deal with my grief. I'm dealing just fine thank you.

I consider just grabbing a months worth of frozen dinners but I'd rather not deal with malnutrition at the moment. So I actually grab fruits, vegetables, and an assortment of meats. I stock up on whatever I'll need so that I don't have to return here anytime soon. As a last minute impulse I grab a two bottles of rum and a few liters of coke. It might be a long night.

One last stop at the hardware store to supply myself with anything and everything I will need to fix up the house and I can be on my way…home. I guess it is my home now, mine and mine alone. Alone. Yupp it's going to be a long night…I need a drink.

My car is filled with enough food to feed an army, cans of paint, and more when I finally begin the drive back to the Victor's Village.

The car sputters and shakes as I drive over the rough terrain that was once a road. I feel only relief when I finally turn the key and the engine sputters to stop. I begin the arduous task of unloading my recently acquired supplies. Groceries go in the kitchen cupboards, fridge and freezer. Supplies for fixing the house go in the shed with the ancient lawnmower that was here when I moved in. I'm not entirely sure it still works.

While this house is still beautiful, incredibly so, time has definitely taken its toll. The outside is well worn. The weather has not been kind. The grounds are overgrown with a hundred years of growth; the grass easily reaches my waist. The old ghost stories have obviously kept nearly all of civilization away. Paint is long chipped off and many boards need replacing. Even the inside is in need of a fix. It will prove to be a good distraction. That's what I need.

Everyone keeps pushing me to talk about my feelings. Ugh, I hate that word…feelings. I don't need to talk about anything. Talking won't help. Talking can't bring them back; it only reminds me that they're gone. A project…that's what I need. Something to keep me busy, something to give me purpose. Something to help me move on with my life. This house is definitely a project.

I return inside to make myself some dinner. However I can't get to the kitchen without passing through the living room. Past that damn box.

I feel the gaping hole of grief threatening to consume me. Just seeing what should be a harmless cardboard box has nearly reduced me to quivering mess.

I push aside those emotions, forcing myself to concentrate on my hunger instead.

_Pasta sounds good_, I think to myself as I begin grabbing the proper ingredients. I manage not to burn anything and the end result is actually edible…much to my surprise.

I grab a glass of water and allow the cool liquid to sooth the aching tightness in my throat. I know I have to face that box, its contents.

Hesitantly I trudge into the living room and stand before the box. Even from across the room I can feel my throat tighten and my heart race…and not in a pleasant way. It's time for that drink.

I turn around and head straight for the fridge and grab one bottle of rum and one liter of Coke. I pour a small amount of rum into the glass…then I rethink the situation and double that amount before adding the Coke. I take a large swig and feel the comforting burn of the rum.

I walk back to the living room and sit Indian style in front of what should be a harmless box and with a heavy sigh and trembling fingers I pull off the lid of the box.

A worn leather jacket rests on top. My fingers brush the supple and soft leather. I pick up the jacket. It still smells like dirt and pine from the last time my father wore it hunting. The first tear slips from my eye as I slip the cool leather over my arms and hug it tightly around my body.

I take a drink and try to quell the pain.

Next I reach in and pull out the family photo albums. I flip through pages of photos and the tears begin to flow freely before they turn into quiet sobs.

Drink.

I pull out Prim's old teddy bear. The one that always sat on her perfectly made bed. The one she still slept with even though she wasn't a child anymore. I hug it tightly and cry for my sister.

Drink.

I pull out my mother's old jewelry box. Inside is all her most prized jewelry, most of it my dad gave her. Also inside is their wedding rings. The cool metal feels so smooth and comforting against my skin. It reminds me of the love they shared.

Drink.

Lastly I pull out a framed photo. The last photo we took as a family. My parents are sitting side by side, hands clasped in my father's lap. My dad's lips are pressed tenderly to my mother's temple and she smiles widely. Prim and I are sitting at their feet. My arm is slung around her shoulders and hers are wrapped tightly around my waist. Our smiles are wide and happy. I haven't smiled like that since they died. I doubt I'll ever smile like that again. Tears run down my cheeks and drip onto the hardwood floor. Sobs wrack my body, threatening to force me to lie on the floor and cry. The picture frame is clutched tightly to my chest.

I finish the last of what was a very large glass of rum with a little bit of coke in it but it does nothing to numb the pain of my loss. I miss them. My life feels completely empty without them. I feel like an empty shell of the person I used to be. So I cry and not that pretty crying that women in movies pull off…no I let the tears flow and the pain and loss turn into screams until my throat is raw.

The storm blows wildly outside. Rain patters hard against the windowpanes. Wind howls through the unsealed cracks that I have yet to fix.

"You don't belong here."

I gasp and turn my head wildly towards the sound. Nothing.

I know I heard it that time. But still nothing! How is it nothing? How can I be hearing a voice with no owner? Ghosts aren't real…merely the results of over active imaginations. This place isn't haunted! Those are only old ghost stories meant to scare gullible minds.

So where does that leave me?

I can't be going crazy…can I?

Then again I did have a lot to drink tonight…


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

The next morning I wake with a start. Nightmares… as usual. I furiously scrub my hands over my eyes, trying desperately to remove the images burned onto my eyelids.

When that doesn't work I throw off my blankets and trudge to the bathroom. I strip off my shirt and sleep shorts and step into the shower. I turn the knob to as hot as it will possibly go and let the scalding water wash away the tension and stress. My muscles slowly start to relax. After about twenty minutes I step out into the cold bathroom air. I curse the frigid air as goose bumps begin to cover every inch of exposed skin. I grab a towel, one of those big plush ones that can cover your entire body, and wrap it several times around my petite frame.

When I'm dried and dressed in a pair of ratty shorts and a t-shirt riddled with holes and covered in paint stains I head to the kitchen. I quickly eat a bowl of cereal before I set to work removing all the handles from the cabinets and drawers. I set them aside and grab a piece of sandpaper. I get to work rubbing away all the old paint until they are ready to be varnished again. I run some water over an old cloth and wipe away the excess dust. I grab the can of varnish and another rag and sit myself out on the back deck.

The sunlight warms my back as I polish all the handles. It takes me about two hours to completely polish everything but when I'm finished they are good as new. I walk back inside to the cool air and wipe away the sheen of sweat on my forehead. My last task for today is to varnish the cupboards. It takes me until dinner but I'm pleased with the results.

The entirety of my week is spent this way. Monday was the kitchen.

Tuesday I replaced the rotted boards on the deck and re-stained it. I also fixed the wobbly rails. My skin took on a beautiful sun-kissed hue and while most girls would be happy about that all I could think of was the way Prim would glare at me when my skin tanned because hers would burn a lobster shade of red. She would always whine about how she wished she had my skin. I miss her so much.

Wednesday I worked on the doors and windows. I replaced all the rusty hinges and sealed all the cracks so that next time a storm hit I wouldn't have to listen to that high-pitched whistling. It is a good thing I'm not afraid of heights because climbing the ladder to the second story windows was a bit of a stupid move. My Dad always used to lecture me, when I'd help him with the upkeep of the house, on the importance of never using a ladder alone. He said I should always make sure someone was there to steady the ladder.

Thursday I replaced the missing shingles from the roof. My mom always said that she as going to have a heart attack every time Dad and I went up on the roof to fix anything. She would stand on the ground and yell up at us that we would only break our necks. My Dad would chuckle and yell down, 'I love you too sweetheart.' All those times fixing the house with my Dad have sure come in handy these past few days. He'd be so proud of me.

Friday I re-stained the floors. The living room, office, and kitchen all had hardwood floors that needed a new color. I chose I dark walnut brown. Thankfully the bedrooms have carpet that only need to be vacuumed and the linoleum in the bathroom is still pristine. Of course there is a weird brown stain on the floor on the master bedroom but I just moved the room around and that covered up easily enough.

Saturday I moved everything into the center of the rooms and taped the edges of the rooms. All the walls were painted a light beige. It was boring and plain. So I bought an array of browns and greens to remind me of the forest my Dad and I used to spend a lot of time hunting in. I painted the first coat that day.

Sunday I painted the second coat. And when that was done I went outside and pulled out that ancient lawnmower and to my surprise it actually worked. So I mowed down the waist high grasses and then raked up all the clippings. Next week I think I might try to plant a garden. Sadly that means another trip into town.

When Monday rolls around again I'm pleased with the amount of work I have completed. Today I tackle the rest of the inside; there are a few loose boards that need to be nailed down. I start upstairs in the hallway. The bedrooms have carpet so at least I don't have to worry about those rooms. Then I go downstairs to start in with the kitchen. When the afternoon sun began to set I finally made it to the office, the last room in the house.

_Creak! _

What was that? I turn around wildly, turning from side to side rapidly, but I see nothing. I step back cautiously…

_Creak!_

It's the floorboards.

I cock my head to the side and knit my eyebrows together as I kneel down beside the creaky board. Gently I prod it with two fingers, it's barely anything but it moves. Weird.

I wander to the garage and grab a flat-head screwdriver. With the screwdriver in hand I walk briskly back to the office and test the floorboards till I find that creaky one again.

Placing the head in the small slot between the boards I begin to pry. It takes a bit of work but eventually the board comes loose. It seems that whoever pried this up didn't want it to be to secure, they obviously wanted to be able to return to get to whatever lies beneath.

Warily I pull the board free and set it aside. I grab a flashlight from the desk drawer and shine the bright light into the hole created by the missing floorboard. Dust and dirt are the first to meet my eyes. A frown creases my face.

_There's nothing here._

My thoughts of frustration at finding nothing is halted immediately when I turn the flashlight slightly to the right and the beam of light lands on an object. The corner of a small brown package catches my eye and I hesitantly slide my hand into the hole to retrieve whatever may lie beneath.

Dust stirs as I pull the package free the confines of the floor. It puffs up in a dirty cloud that swarms my face causing me to sputter and cough. I swat the air in front of my face till the dust has faded away before I turn my attention on the small brown paper wrapped package.

Tentatively I reach for it, when my fingers brush the brown wrapping more dust rolls off. With trembling fingers I begin to peel back the packaging. I drop the crinkly brown paper to the floor beside me.

I hold in my hand an old leather bound journal. The pages are yellowing around the edges. Carefully I open the cover…

_This journal belongs to Peeta Mellark. _

Unexpectedly I drop the journal to the floor.

Peeta Mellark…as in _the _Peeta Mellark. Peeta Mellark the last victor of the hunger games, the boy who started a rebellion and changed the world.

Quickly I grasp the journal and open the cover again. Turning past the first page I see the neat scrawl that belonged to Peeta Mellark.

"Put that back!" A voice quickly becoming familiar booms through the room. I turn quickly but all I see is a smoky haze.

I know I saw something that time! I'm not going crazy! But what the hell is going on here!

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**A/N: Hey all! Here's another chapter. Again I just want to say wow! So many reviews and so much love for this story. Seriously it is so appreciated. **

**So I'm a curious person and lots of reviews have said they are super curious as to where this story is going. So just for fun I thought I'd pose a question. Where would you like to see this story go? Review or PM!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

_I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. _I repeat these words like a mantra.

The journal taunts me from my nightstand drawer where I stuffed it after the voice commanded me to _put that back._ I desperately want to read it but I haven't been able to look past the first page again. Every time I pull out the supple leather bound book and nervously thumb that cover page I get nervous and close it quickly. However it is quickly becoming too much, my curiosity can't handle it. I've finished up all of the home renovating and now I need a new hobby.

But that damn journal is all that I can think about. It's crossed my mind that maybe…just maybe…this voice I've been hearing might belong to Peeta Mellark.

_That's it! I've had it._ I decide and storm up to my room. I nearly rip the drawer out in my haste. I roughly grab the old journal and I sit cross-legged on my bed and prepare to open the book. With shaking hands I open the cover and run my fingers along the line written there '_This journal belongs to Peeta Mellark.' _ My fingers twitch toward the corner and I turn the page hesitantly. In a moment of paranoia I look around before looking down and running my eyes over the page.

_The nightmares have gotten worse. It's been months since I was crowned 'victor' of the hunger games. Oh god! Victor…what a joke. I didn't win anything. The only thing I won was the chance to live in hell until death so mercifully takes me. This isn't winning. I get to live, but I'm not sure it's worth it. I envy the dead, those who died in the games, even if their death was brutal at least they have found peace in death. I am left behind to suffer. _

I flip a few pages. My throat is tight with emotion. I understand his desperation. It is exactly what I feel every day. _I have nothing to fight for anymore. They are all gone. Maybe if I did then this would be different. If I had something to fight for then maybe I wouldn't allow myself to be overcome by my grief. At least my overly comforting and pitying friends aren't here. They can't find me out here. Out here I'm free to wallow when I chose. At least this house was a nice project. _Yes…I understand him.

_Haymitch has been preparing me for the victory tour. He said that I've started a rebellion…apparently President Snow isn't happy with me. I know this should scare me but a small piece of me hopes that maybe he'll be angry enough to grant me my death wish. It's a feeble hope I know. He would much rather make me suffer. Apparently I give the people hope. Hope that things can be different, that there is still good in the world. It's ironic because I can no longer find hope for myself. I can't see the good anymore. _

Tears prick my eyes.

_I don't know how the other victors do it. They seem so normal and adjusted. Haymitch drinks himself away and the victors from six do drugs. But the rest of them seem ok. Maybe it's all a lie but still I don't know how they can pretend so well. If they feel anything like I do then they are not ok. Every one thinks that after becoming a victor life only gets better. It doesn't. I used to laugh and smile. I used to have friends but they don't come around anymore. Mom doesn't visit she just uses my winnings. My brothers and my dad come around often but all they do is tiptoe around me. I'm not sure if they are scared or pitying. Delly won't see me anymore. Apparently I've changed. Apparently love doesn't last forever._

That's why I'll never love it always leads to pain. You'll always loose them in some way. I flip a few more pages.

_Nightmares again. I wish there was some way to make them go away. They were all around me. The tributes from my games. Blood was seeping from their every pore. The grass was streaked with crimson stains and the waters ran thick with blood. I looked down at my hands and screamed in surprise to find them coated with blood. I looked into their lifeless eyes. I tried to wipe the blood from my hands but they were stained. I may not be directly responsible for their death but because I am alive it means they are not._

I scan over a few more pages. They are mostly about his nightmares of the games. It's awful. I can't imagine living through that. I can't imagine surviving such horrors.

_I'm so alone. No one understands. Everyone assumes that I should be grateful to be alive. In some ways I am. But they just don't understand the hell of having to live when it feels like you should have died. My Dad tries. He really does. He comes to visit me often and I know he wants to understand. He wants to be there for me. But I can still see that underlying pity. Pity mixed with fear and misunderstanding. He worries that I have changed, and I have, that I'm not longer the son he knew, and in many ways he is right. I'm not the same. I've lost myself. _

The poor boy. It shocks me how well I understand. After my family died no one would treat me the same. The way they would tiptoe around me drove me insane. I know they assumed that they were only being helpful but it made it so much worse. It felt like I was losing everyone all at the same time. That I was losing myself in the process.

_The Victory Tour is almost over. Tomorrow I'll be in the Capitol. I'm afraid. Returning there feels too overwhelming. The last time I was there I was crowned Victor. I was still dazed from winning I knew nothing of the hell I was yet to endure. Now I know all to well what awaited me in the life of a Victor. Now I have to relive the memories with a clear head. I'll have to smile and act as though I don't wish to die every second of the day. I'll have to smile while the repulsive Capitol women hang all over me as if I could ever look at them with anything but disdain. I'll feel President Snow's watchful and chilling gaze on me. Every move I make he will monitor and judge. _

I turn a significant chunk of pages.

_The rebellion has started and I don't know if I have it in me to be the symbol they need. I was supposed to suppress the rebellion and I failed. Haymitch essentially kidnapped me from the train home from the victory tour. A minor electrical malfunction had the train stop in District Four. There Haymitch grabbed me and covered my mouth advising me to stay silent. Finnick and Annie, two victors from District Four were waiting with a small faction of soldiers from District Thirteen! The district that supposedly didn't exist! In my confusion they steered me aboard a hovercraft that transported us to District Thirteen. There Alma Coin was waiting to greet me to her cause. Ever since then it has been a whirlwind. Most of the districts are rebelling and I am supposed to be their symbol of hope when I have none. They get me to give impassioned speeches and film me to inspire the rebels. I do my best but I can't help but feel as if I'm failing. People are dying and all I'm doing is filming speeches. I feel so useless. _

I turn a few pages more to the end of the book, curious to read the end.

_Snow is dead. Coin is dead. At Snow's execution Johanna Mason, a District Seven Victor, hurtled an ax into Coin's chest. Her reasoning being that Coin would be a President no different from Snow. I can't help but to think that she was right. I didn't trust Coin. I never could. There was always something about her that just didn't sit right with me. The similarities between Snow and Coin were too many. They were both to cold and unfeeling to be the leader Panem would need in order to make a fresh start. President Paylor, her I can believe in. Everyone has spent the last weeks rejoicing in the new world, excited about the change to come. I am too, never again will anyone have to suffer the Hunger Games, for that am I happy. But I still feel as though I can't truly be happy in this new world. It will be just as lonely and haunting as the last for me. Will I ever find peace?_

"What are you doing?" That same voice I've heard before asks, this time it is really angry.

I turn quickly and gasp. My hands fly to my mouth and the journal I was previously holding falls to the floor with a loud thud.

Before me stands a young man. He has blond curls and eyes as blue as the lakes in the mountains where my Dad and I used to hunt. He stands a few inches taller than myself, his shoulders are broad and his clothes are outdated. I would have sworn he was real if not for the faint ghostly aura that surrounds him, that same shimmering silver that I caught a glimpse of before.

"I asked you a question! What do you think you are doing? You barge into my house and you snoop through my private things! How long did you search for that journal? Did you even think twice about reading someone else's private thoughts?" His voice is angry but still trills with a haunting echo.

"I…I…" Words escape me; all I can do is stutter.

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**A/N: Hey Everyone! Thanks for the all the reviews! They mean so much to me. They literally inspire me. I love it when I get feedback. Especially constructive criticism and suggestions! I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. For everyone asking for more interaction between our characters don't worry it is coming! Please be patient! So please review and let me know what you thought of this chapter! Review, PM or whatever!**


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